


Eat You Up

by PhenixFleur



Series: The Deer and The Wolf [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult!Dipper, Deerper, Dipper may be just a bit on the thirsty side, Fluff, Human!Bill, Hunter AU, Hunter Bill, Interspecies Romance, Light Dom/sub, M/M, a touch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One early spring afternoon a wolf met a deer,<br/>He spoke honeyed words with a silver tongue<br/>Poised to steal the deer's heart away;</p>
<p>One early spring afternoon a deer met a wolf,<br/>His knees buckled before those honeyed words<br/>And he fell in love that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat You Up

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my Tumblr](http://bipolar-berry-crunch.tumblr.com/post/119380325772/billdip-13-hunter-au-if-you-want) as a prompt fill.

When he first encountered the hunter, Dipper was caught completely offguard, somehow unaware of the man’s approach until he felt the muzzle of a hunting rifle pressed against his flank.

Prior to being interrupted, he found himself enjoying a rare moment of peace, resting against the large trunk of an old oak tree deep in the woods, inhaling the scent of the world awakening after lying dormant throughout his seventh winter in Gravity Falls. By now Mabel spent the majority of her time in the lake, having far outgrown the kiddie pools that once littered the shack, and Dipper’s antlers from the year before had come and gone, being shed through a frustrating process of slamming his head against various structures in the Mystery Shack until they broke off to be immediately absconded with by Stan. Dipper suspected that his grand uncle might be making money off of them somehow, but he didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t as if he needed them anymore.

Legs tucked beneath him in the soft grass and head bent over the journal with the six-fingered hand that had become one of his most valued possessions over the years, humming snatches of some pop song that he’d never admit to enjoying, the cervitaur breathed a sigh of relief, overjoyed to have some time away from the town. For the most part the populace were now settled into their new lives and adjusted to the best of their abilities, buoyed by an economic upswing due to increased tourism (which certainly helped with the  _food_  issue, and as annoying as being treated as an oddity could be Dipper was glad he didn’t have to worry about being eaten whenever he made his way into the town proper). He’d never ceased looking for a way to reverse the catastrophe that he still viewed as his fault, but as the years drifted by the necessity of simply trying to  _live_  had eventually dawned on him. It was a lengthy process, working through the guilt and awkwardness and hairline trigger fear that defined a deer’s life, but with the support of his family, extended family and assorted friends it all became more bearable. He still spent a good amount of time by himself when not researching, which occasionally backfired for various reasons - like now, with the unsettlingly warm metal prodding him in the side and a male voice with a slightly unearthly quality issuing a damn near impossible order: “Don’t run.”

Dipper froze where he sat; the journal fell from his hands and landed in the grass. He would have marveled at the fact that he hadn’t heard the man approaching nor sensed it had he not been on the verge of fainting from sheer terror. He remained as still as he possible could, struggling to suppress his uncontrollable trembling as the nose of the gun slid along his side, ruffling his shirt on its way along the curve of his shoulder and pausing just beneath his chin. The hunter on the opposite end of the rifle moved to stand before him, and Dipper met his gaze, shuddering at the intensity of the man’s light hazel (nearly golden) eyes. “You’re pretty far from home, kid,” the man commented, grinning – and exposing a set of canines that belied his human appearance. “Not too bright, are ya?”

Dipper opened his mouth to protest – and clenched his teeth at a nudge from the rifle against his neck. He was still governed by the urge to run, especially without his fully grown antlers to serve as a form of defense, but the part of him that wasn’t a deer seethed at the implication. Bastard.

The hunter extended a gloved hand (Dipper noted that his attire didn’t really remind him of a hunter, nor the wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair that darkened to black midway), running his fingers through the cervitaur’s hair, stroking the soft fur of his ears, tracing along the velvet covered antlers growing longer which each passing day. Dipper shivered before he could catch himself. The man’s touch was surprisingly gentle. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. Not today.”

This was considerably less than reassuring, and Dipper narrowed his eyes accusingly at the statement. His reaction seemed to delight the hunter, who laughed; the sound echoed throughout the strangely silent section of the woods they were in. The silence was a new development. “Trust me. If I wanted you dead, kid, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The hand in his hair moved to run along his left cheekbone, tantalizingly slow; a different kind of shudder ran through his body as Dipper continued to stare up at the man. A part of him that was  _entirely_  human and also stupid recognized that the man was rather attractive for a gun-toting psychopath with a gun pressed against his neck.

“Beautiful,” the hunter breathed. “I could just eat you up.”

Even without further clarification Dipper could tell that was a euphemism for something that made him shudder again.

The hunter’s fangs gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight, and the rifle shifted to the side, allowing him to take a deep breath.

“You can run now.”

Dipper struggled to his hooves and tore past the hunter, heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted through the foliage, never looking back. It wasn’t until he slammed his way into his room and locked the door behind him, collapsing in a heap and struggling to catch his breath that he realized that he’d left the journal where he’d dropped it, out in the middle of the woods.

_Shit_.

* * *

It took a full day before he managed to work up the courage to go back to search for the journal; thankfully it didn’t rain during that 24 hour period, but he didn’t sleep well that night. It hadn’t occurred to him how much of a veritable security blanket the book was. It wasn’t as if it held the secret to reversing his condition, but it was  _his_ , his guide to a side of the world few people knew as intimately as he did.

Against his better judgement, he went alone. Perhaps it was foolish, young adult hubris that he’d be fine this time around; he refused to admit the presence of any other motives behind what was very likely a mistake.

_Beautiful. I_   _could_   _just eat you up._

Dipper’s stomach twisted in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

He managed to locate the small clearing with ease; over the years he’d combed every square foot of the woods up to a point he could never bring himself to stray past. There was something there, something that made every internal alarm in his body chime with unmistakable clarity that made him sick to his stomach, so Dipper stayed away, for now.

He padded his way over to where he’d been resting earlier that week with the delicate hoofsteps of a white tail. He could already feel the disappointment (and stirrings of actual panic) beginning to settle on his shoulders - it was clear from the start that there was nothing there nestled within the grass, but he retained a thread of hope anyway.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Dipper stumbled, managing to catch himself before blundering into the tree trunk beside him. Temporarily stricken with the recklessness of a buck (and already distraught enough over the apparent loss of his book) he leapt to the side, turning to face the man standing behind him. This time there was no rifle visible, but that didn’t mean the hunter was unarmed.

“Geez kid, chill.” The hunter held up his hands in a dismissive manner. Dipper considered pointing out that this was  entirely unreasonable to ask of someone whose first impression of you involved a gun, but thought better of it.

“Look,” he said, willing his voice to remain steady. “I’m just looking for something I dropped last time. I don’t want any trouble.”

The hunter raised a blonde eyebrow, visible against appealing warm cocoa skin that was way too flawless-

Dipper groaned inwardly. Damned hormones.

“You mean this?” The familiar brown book shimmered into existence in the hunter’s hands; Dipper’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second. “I figured you’d come back for it. It looks valuable.”

_It is_. Masking his desperation was a real challenge, and Dipper hesitated for a moment before answering. “It’s just an old book. Really.”

“A book worth walking into a wolf’s den?” The hunter quipped.

“Are you the wolf?” Dipper asked, before his brain caught up with his mouth and reminded him that flirting with a guy that may or may not have designs on killing him was probably a bad idea.

A brief flash of fang, and a predatory gleam in those golden eyes. “Maybe.”

The rational decision would have been to cut his losses and put as much distance between this man and himself as possible, but the time for rational decisions was long gone. Dipper stood transfixed by both awe and fear as the man approached him, continuing to hold his gaze until they were almost touching. He held his breath, listening to the sound of his own erratic heartbeat. As before, the woods had gone silent in anticipation.

“I’ll give it back to you, but I want something in return.”

Dipper didn’t like the sound of that; nor the implication that he was desperate (although he was, if he was honest with himself). However, it was becoming more and more difficult to think straight with the deer part of himself ordering him to run and the human part fixated on things that it really shouldn’t be.

“I don’t have anything you’d want,” he stammered, attempting to take a step back - and bumping into the tree trunk keeping him trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

_**Hard** place. Oh my god. Don’t._

The hunter seemed as aware of his inner turmoil as Dipper was, and the cervitaur outright failed to suppress the shiver of delight as fingertips slid along the incline of his jaw, cool to the touch but leaving him feeling feverish all at once. “You have no idea what I want, kid,” the hunter whispered, reaching up to touch his budding antlers. He instinctively tried to flinch away, gasping as the hand on his left antler tightened its grip. “Hold still.”

Dipper held still, holding his breath. If these were his last moments it was entirely his fault.

Death didn’t come. Instead the hunter simply regarded him carefully, scrutinizing every inch of his features, stroking his ears almost fondly, rendering him light-headed, nearly in a trance. The woods and grass beneath his hooves faded, leaving nothing but himself and the hunter and those eyes the hue of freshly minted gold boring holes into him. 

“I was right, the other day,” the hunter muttered, more to himself than Dipper. “You’re stunning.”

A denial was on the tip of his tongue, but Dipper swallowed it. Protesting would have taken more effort than he was capable of expending. What did slip from between his lips was something between a whine and a soft whimper of need. He felt himself leaning into the hunter’s touch - then almost toppling over as the man withdrew, taking whatever spell he’d cast with him.

“Here you go!” The man produced the journal from wherever he’d hidden it and handed it over cheerfully. Dipper accepted the book with trembling hands, too addled to voice his appreciation. 

“Now run along home. It’s getting dark, and the monsters come out at night.”

Dipper ducked his head in a poor attempt to hide his obviously flushed face. “Do you?”

He heard the hunter chuckle; it was a dark sound full of promises that were both terror-inducing yet alluring. “Wanna find out?”

He ran again. This time it was very, very difficult to avoid looking back, and when he reached the Shack he sequestered himself in his room with the door locked for entirely different reasons other than anxiety.

* * *

This time he forced himself to wait for an entire week. 

It was certainly a trial doing so. He spent most of the following few days stumbling around like a fawn, still feeling the aftereffects of the so-called spell woven with soft touches and praise. No one had ever called him ‘beautiful’ before, nor looked at him as if the words weren’t an empty compliment. It was intoxicating to feel  _wanted,_ and he found himself dreaming about those golden eyes and the voice with its faint ethereal echo ordering him to  _hold still, don’t run._

At one point he toppled into the lake while visiting Mabel, who had a good laugh at his expense. She seemed to just  _know_  that someone had turned his head, and she passed the rest of the afternoon poking fun at him over it. Dipper didn’t indulge her with any information. He didn’t even know the man’s name, and the fact that he considered himself the wolf in their dichotomy was troubling. Trouble was the last thing he needed.

This resolve lasted until the end of the week, and then he rushed out of the house leaving the journal behind, heading into the woods with a single destination in mind. 

As before, the clearing was deserted, and birdsong rang out from within the trees all around him. The grass was undisturbed, as if nothing had tread upon that ground since he’d departed. Unlike before, a few minutes of waiting with his back turned produced no results, no sudden appearances of any nature. 

He seated himself near the tree he was becoming rather familiar with, feeling the rough bark dig into his side and trying to hold back tears for reasons he didn’t understand. Of course the hunter wouldn’t be there. The last time he had an actual reason, and several days had gone by. Perhaps it was for the best.

A few stray tears broke away, coursing along his cheek and clinging to his chin before disappearing in the grass. 

“Lose something again?”

Dipper lifted his head, wiping at his face with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, I think so.”

The hunter knelt before him, still managing to be above eye level. “And what might that be?”

“My sense of self-preservation.“ 

The hunter grinned at the statement. "Careful, kid. I bite.”

“I kn…” The words dug their heels in, and his rational self skidded to a screeching halt at the sensation of those fingertips pressed against his lips. 

“I bite pretty hard,” the hunter added. “You might not like it.”

“I…” Talking was such a hassle. 

“Yes?”

“I don’t…”

“Now’s your last chance to run.”

“I…don’t…want to,” Dipper finally managed, throwing logic out the window. 

The hunter raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Before he could respond in the affirmative Dipper found his back pressed against the tree, with the hunter invading his personal space - one hand on either side of his head, trapping him there with nowhere to move but into his embrace. “Is this what you want?” The eyes glittered. So did the fangs. “Are you offering yourself to the wolf? I’ll eat you up, kid. From head to toe.  _Every inch_.”

“Yes,” Dipper breathed. “Please, I don’t care, I just want…”

“Tell me what you want.”

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut, mentally willing the embarrassment to fade. “You…said I was beautiful?”

“You are.” The hunter…no, the  _wolf_  licked his lips, hungrily. “I didn’t lie. Not this time.”

“Can you say it again?”

The wolf leaned forward, lips almost pressed against the cervitaur’s ear as he spoke. “You’re beautiful. One of a kind. A rarity. Special. Unique.” With every single word Dipper’s heart fluttered in his chest; he could barely breathe now without outright panting. “Shall I go on?”

Dipper shook his head. “Can you…?”

“You’ve gotta speak up, kid. I can’t read minds. Today’s an off day.”

Dipper filed that statement away for later. For now, nothing mattered except the snare he was willing walking into. “Kiss me.”

Warm lips captured his own, teeth nipping lightly at his bottom lip and a tongue slipping between them to flicker against his own. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was definitely the first time he felt like fainting. The wolf drew back, their lips connected by a thread of saliva that hung in the air before breaking. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” because talking was now entirely out of the question. The wolf kissed him again, nipping hard this time and drawing a muffled moan from his prey. 

“Told you I bite,” the wolf reminded him, then shook his head at the sight of the cervitaur glaring at him, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“I don’t care,” Dipper said again, almost to the point of drooling; the wolf placed a hand against his chest and pushed him back against the tree as he tried to move forward to initiate the kiss. 

“Not so fast, kid. I’m the one eating  _you_ , remember?” The wolf leered at him, red tongue that was just little too long to be fully human running over his lips again. 

“…I think I need a reminder.”

The wolf was happy to oblige.


End file.
